The Tit Parade

Last Saturday night, I dragged my hubby to a fancy-schmancy formal fundraiser. Needless to say, he got more than he bargained for.

It was a celebration of cleavage. Nearly every woman, young or old, was popping out of her dress (his wife included). I don't know when this fashion trend started, but somehow prominently displayed titties became the newest way to accessorize. Honestly, some of these chicks looked like they were gonna need ankle weights to keep them from floating to the ceiling. My darling husband looked like he was going to pass out, pop a chub, and die of embarrassment all at the same time. At one point he muttered, "Must. Maintain. Eye. Contact. Don't. Look. Down." Poor guy. It must have been hard. I can only imagine how challenging it would be to attend a party where every man was totally hot and had perfectly round, eminently touchable tushies. I would be distracted too.

Hubby barely survived the endless parade of gazongas while my self-esteem barely survived the self-induced comparisons (hers are bigger! hers are perkier! hers look so much better than mine!). Upon returning home, I proceeded to dismantle myself, taking off my royal blue party dress, flicking off the uncomfortable heels, unpeeling my Spankz, unsticking my stick-on bra, removing the layers of warpaint, and brushing the red wine off my pearlies. Fresh and clean, I climbed into bed wearing my favorite powder blue nightie and cuddled with my man.

That was when he showed me which ta-tas he loves the most. ;)

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For your consideration and/or comment:

What is your Cleavage Quotient: melons, grapefruits, or grapes?

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